


The Turning Point

by Princess_Aleera



Series: The Mute!Cas Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Communication Failure, Dark, Dean Winchester must fix all of the things ever, Dean is a dick, Dean lives in The Nile, Dean's closet leads to Narnia, Depression, Fallen Castiel, Gen, Hallucifer, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Castiel, Nightmares, Post-Hell, Post-Hell Issues, Repression, Sign Language, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Withdrawal, the great wall of sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Where the boys learn ASL and get better, and this whole 'communication thing' isn't as easy as Dean thought it would be.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Was I Meant To Feel Happy (That My Life Was About To Change? )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where the days go by and Dean researches ASL._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket warning for Dean being daft?

The days trail by slowly. Dean feels like a guard dog half the time; making sure Cas eats, making sure Sam’s okay, making sure Cas is somewhat okay, making sure, _making sure_. It’s exhausting, especially with the cravings he’s still got; his thirst for alcohol so strong sometimes, it renders him unable to think and move. Both Cas and Sam seem to sense when those times approach, though, and make a habit of leaving Dean alone while they last. Dean appreciates it, even if a small part of him kinda wants someone to tell him he’s doing okay, that it’s only gonna get better from here.

But that’s his job now.

Sam starts to get jittery, bored. There’s nothing much for them to do at Bobby’s when they’re not hunting, and now that Sam’s little ‘episodes’ start to get rare, with days between him falling into a fit of hysterics over something only he can see, he’s taken to pace around the house. He annoys the fuck out of Dean, mostly because he suspects it makes Cas feel guilty about not being better than he is.

On the other hand, he can’t help but agree with Sam. Dean’s bored out of his mind. And he knows Bobby would like to get his house back, and not have to share a bathroom with three other grown men. Everything sort of depends on Cas, because Dean doesn’t want to rush anything. Doesn’t want to pressure the guy. Cas has barely started eating properly, his ribs not as visible, his face not as gaunt. He’s also started walking around a little more, once he got enough energy that his legs would keep him up. And he’s started staring at Dean again. At first Dean welcomed it, seeing the blue-grey in his friend’s eyes get bluer and more piercing as he got farther away from deathly thin, but now… it unnerves him. Dean thought he was over this, seeing as he’d lived with the angel Castiel staring at him for the better part of three years. But now that the Cas is no longer an angel… everything’s changed.

There’s also a different meaning in his eyes, Dean slowly realizes. There’s more in Cas’s gaze than it used to be; more things spoken, now that he can’t say them out loud. Dean doesn’t know what to do with this - especially not when Cas takes to touching him more. It’s nothing big: a brief caress across the wrist when Dean brings him food, fingers brushing his shoulder when Cas walks past him. A hand on his knee when Cas is going to bed and tries to say ‘goodnight’, lips clumsily wording it in silence before closing his eyes.

It… kinda freaks Dean out.

So he starts to avoid Cas a little more. Not leaving him alone, God no, just… staying a bit further away, is all. Sitting in the chair across the living room table, instead of on the couch by Cas’s side. Pulling back immediately when he’s brought Cas food. Letting Cas go to the bathroom by himself, even on the days where Cas’s legs are trembling. This is all just new to Cas, and Dean appreciates the hints the guy drops that Cas is no longer mad at him. He gets it. It just… weirds him out, is all, because even though they had the personal space-conversation when he was an angel, Dean suspects Cas might’ve forgot. He doesn’t want Cas to think there’s something… something more there, that’s all. Because there isn’t.

Dean’s just a friend. The friend who got Cas into this clusterfuck and the friend who’s gonna help him out of it. And then, then Cas can have a normal life and maybe move into some nice apartment, get a job or go to school or something, whatever he wants, and he’ll get friends and maybe a nice girlfriend. Or boyfriend, if that’s his cup of tea. Dean’s never asked, and he’s not going to. But Cas is an awesome guy: he’ll find new, better friends in no time. Normal friends, who don’t get him killed on a regular basis.

Cas writes now too, simple English words, because though the knowledge obviously is in his brain somewhere, it looks like Cas has some trouble seeing the difference between all the languages his angel self knew. Sometimes he’ll start to write an English sentence, and then some completely foreign words they later establish as Russian, Celtic, Swahili or Cantonese plops in and Sam has to use Google Translate.

Dean has also researched ASL, for Cas’s benefit. It looks perfect; every movement a word in itself. It’s gonna be a fuckload of work learning all those words, though, because unlike Dean’s first thought, ASL is nothing like English at _all_. If they do this, it’ll be like learning a completely new language. But Dean also believes that once they do, communicating with Cas is gonna be so, so much simpler. They can talk to him now, but writing takes time and sometimes Cas doesn’t remember the word. Besides, there’s different types of ASL. They can start with fingerspelling, which has only the 26 letters. That can’t be too hard. Right?

Dean finds himself looking up online courses for ASL and the American finger alphabet, absentmindedly trying to curl his fingers into the appropriate letters the movements are supposed to mean. He’s secretly pleased when he learns to spell his own name. He can do this - learn a new language for Cas. Really, it’s the least he can do for the guy, along with providing him a life with a semblance of normality. That’s something he thinks a lot about those late nights when he can’t sleep, body too strung up and bursting with unused energy. He imagines Cas living the apple-pie life, surrounded by friends, laughing without sound and signing everything he needs to say.

He stubbornly keeps himself and Sam out of those images. Doesn’t want to indulge in a fantasy he can never have. But sometimes he dreams. Dreams about a bright garden, a white picket fence keeping the rest of the world out. Dreams of Cas, pressed against his side, laughing or sleeping or just resting his head on Dean’s chest, but always healthy, always happy. Dreams of tracing the planes of Cas’s body with his calloused fingertips, of kissing those chapped lips, of pressing into him and just touching, _feeling_.

The first time he had a sex dream about Cas, Dean didn’t look the guy in the eyes for two whole days. It’s only happened a couple of times, but it’s embarrassing as fuck and Dean tries to forget about them as soon as he wakes up. He’s always been good at wanting things he can’t have. _Shouldn’t_ want to have. This is no different, it’s just… harder. Harder to forget that feeling of bliss when the subject of those dreams is always in the same house, the same room, touching Dean without realizing what fucked-up imagines it produces in Dean’s mind.

A warm hand on his shoulder and Dean startles, immediately feeling his cheeks heat up a little. He didn’t hear Cas creep up on him. For once, he’s glad Cas can no longer hear his thoughts or sense his erratic heartbeat. “Hey, Cas.” He subtly shifts so Cas’s hand is no longer on him, and sends the guy a small smile.

Cas blinks at him, looking at his shoulder for a second, before sighing a little and pulling back his hand. He points at the laptop screen and tilts his head.

“This? Sign language, Cas. I thought maybe we could, y’know. Give it a try.”

Cas peers at the screen, looking fascinated.

“Like this, see,” Dean says and points at the finger alphabet. “We can start out with this, so you get to talk, and then learn the other language as we go along, maybe? There’s some really good online courses you can- _we_ can use. It will probably take a lot of time, but… I mean, it’s not like we’ve got anything else to do right now, right?” He grins. “The world ain’t ending no more.”

Cas leans forward to peer at the screen, his right hand trying to make the right letters. Judging by what Dean can see, he’s doing a fair job with it, too. Cas works his way through the alphabet, over and over. He’s a little too close for comfort, his side pressing barely against Dean’s, and Dean can smell that coconut shampoo and another sweet smell he recognizes as bubblegum. It’s a mix that works; makes Dean want to turn his head in against Cas’s neck to get a deeper whiff. So when Cas moves to scroll down the page and he comes close enough to breathe against Dean’s neck, Dean scrambles away from the chair.

“Have fun, with the, yeah,” Dean says, feeling a little breathless for no reason, and plasters on a smile. He crosses his arms and stands at a small distance, enough that he can no longer feel the man’s body heat or smell him. Cas’s phantom breath is still ghosting over the side of his neck.

Cas stares at him, a look of hurt ghosting over his face, before his expression closes down completely. He slams the laptop shut and walks out of the room without another look on Dean, leaving him to stare puzzled after the fallen angel.

He did something to hurt Cas again. Fuckin’ figures.

He slumps back down in the chair and reopens the browser. He doesn’t think about going after Cas and asking him what’s wrong, because he doesn’t want the answer. He doesn’t.

The next word he learns to sign is ‘Cas’. When Sam comes up to find him half an hour later, that’s still the word Dean is signing over and over again.

~*~


	2. It's Not My Fault If I Wanna Pack Up And Run Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam and Cas hugs, and Dean is a coward._

“What’s wrong with Cas?” Sam asks, the two of them sitting outside on Bobby’s porch. They’re both getting sick of looking at the same walls week after week, even if Bobby’s home is the closest they have to a home apart from the Impala. Watching the scrap yard is better than being inside, especially when Sam’s lucid enough to carry a full-length conversation without glancing at the corner every ten seconds. They’ve been at Bobby’s for a month now, and Dean feels it in his bones. He needs to get out of here.  
  
“What do you mean?” Dean says, looking over at his brother. He’s got a can of Coke in his hand, trying to fool his brain into believing that it’s just as awesome as beer. It’s not working. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”  
  
“Not the mute thing,” Sam says. “Or even the part where he’s human. He’s… different. Like, angry.”  
  
Dean shrugs and doesn’t meet his brother’s gaze. “I would’ve been angry too, if I was Cas.”  
  
“Yeah, but I don’t think-” Sam cuts himself off and sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It just- seems like something’s bothering him. Something else.”  
  
Dean doesn’t answer.  
  
Later that day, he sees Sam walk up to Cas in Bobby’s living room. Cas is sitting in the couch, hands clumsily trying to sign the letters on the laptop in front of him. Dean was just gonna walk past them and into the kitchen, but when Sam sits down next to Cas, he stops and stays where he is. He’s not spying on them, because please, pathetic much? He just… doesn’t wanna interrupt, that’s all. It looks like Sam’s gearing up for a real chick-flick talk, and Dean would rather Cas have that conversation.  
  
“Cas,” Sam says in that voice he uses to comfort crying victims. “Is something bothering you? Like, something other than…” and he does an awkward hand gesture.  
  
Cas glances at him, before he looks down at his lap. He shakes his head, a jerky motion, and even Dean can see he’s lying.  
  
“You sure? You seem upset about something.”  
  
Another shake of the head, faster this time. A little more desperate, a little more obviously lying.  
  
Sam rubs his palms on his jeans-clad knees and waits a moment before speaking again. “You know… it’s probably not gonna get better, whatever it is, on its own. Sometimes it helps just to ask for help.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes where he stands at another one of Sam’s ‘if there’s a lock, then there has to be a key’ comments, but Cas looks up at the younger Winchester with a frown. Then he takes his notepad and pen, hesitates, and writes something Dean can’t see from where he’s standing.  
  
“What?” Sam says, and sounds surprised. “No, he’s not mad at you. Why would you think that?”  
  
Cas shrugs, and Dean wonders who they’re talking about. When Sam looks just as confused, he sighs and writes more on the piece of paper.  
  
Sam reads it and frowns. “I’m sure that isn’t intentional.”  
  
Cas’s face darkens a little, and with a bitter snort he writes again.  
  
“That’s- probably just a coincidence, Cas,” Sam assures, but he’s starting to look uncomfortable now, and Dean wonders what the hell they’re talking about. He’s so tempted to come in and peek at Cas’s paper, but that would just be weird at this point.  
  
Cas writes for a long time, this time. He fills the page before he shoves the notepad into Sam’s hand. He throws his hands in the air, looking confused and frustrated. Like he mostly looks these days, Dean thinks, but that’s not quite true. He looks _different_ frustrated, _different_ confused. Dean thinks Sam is maybe right, just a little; that something’s up with Cas.  
  
Sam reads the page in silence, brows furrowed. He rubs his wrist absentmindedly, but other than that he seems to be alone in his head. When he’s finished, he looks lost. Like he has no idea what to say.  
  
Dean wishes they would just fucking say out loud what’s on the notepad, already. He’s so curious it hurts.  
  
“Cas…”  
  
Cas slumps a little, and shakes his head in a gesture Dean thinks means ‘it doesn’t matter’. He takes back the notepad, rips out the page, and rips it into tiny pieces with slow, methodic movements. His gaze stays down.  
  
“I had no idea,” Sam says softly.  
  
 _About what?!_ Dean almost shouts before he bites his tongue.  
  
Cas writes one last thing, pleading eyes on Sam’s fond ones.  
  
“I won’t,” Sam murmurs. “I promise.” He scoots over on the couch, until he’s pretty much pressed up against Cas’s side. He leans in to wrap his Gigantor arms around their fallen angel’s shoulders, and Cas slips his arms around Sam’s waist and holds on tight.  
  
Dean blinks in surprise. Cas and Sam, hugging the living shit out of each other. What the hell? Did someone die, or something?  
  
Cas buries his face in Sam’s neck, but Dean doesn’t think he’s crying. He looks… calm, Dean decides, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as Sam hugs him. He can understand that, actually. Sam gives great hugs.  
  
“I think you should talk to him,” Sam says without letting go, without pulling back. He’s staring at the doorway into the kitchen, Dean notices, gaze focused. Lucifer’s back, then. “I mean, he’s my brother and I love him, but he can be an asshole sometimes. I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it.” Sam gives the kitchen doorway - the Lucifer hallucination - a smile as he hugs Cas a little tighter.  
  
Dean blinks. They’re talking about _him_?  
  
Cas sighs into Sam’s shirt and shrugs. After a long while - five minutes, Dean’s almost certain - he pulls back and mouths at Sam. He smiles, and though it’s small and tired, Dean can see it’s genuine.  
  
“No problem,” Sam says softly and squeezes Cas’s shoulder once before rising to his feet. “Good luck.”  
  
Cas’s smile turns almost bitter, but he nods in thanks anyway. Then he curls up on the couch and stares thoughtfully at the table.  
  
“I’ll let you sleep,” Sam says and walks towards the doorway where Dean’s hiding, and Dean’s out of there before he can get caught. He leaves the house, doesn’t want to talk to Sam about whatever the hell that was. He ends up pampering his baby on the other side of the junkyard, giving her a wax-over. He takes his time, just so he can spend the entire day outside by himself. He figures he can at least take care of his girl, even if he’s not good at taking care of much else.  
  
He knows he’s hiding, like the fucking coward he is. That doesn’t stop him from staying outside until it’s dark and both Sam and Cas have fallen asleep.  
  


~*~


	3. I Want You to Die For My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where there are nightmares. Bad, bad nightmares._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for torture, blood, dub/non-con and character death **in a dream context** ; allusions to past Hell-torture.

“I think we need to get outta here.”

Sam glances up at Dean, sitting on the other side of the kitchen table. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a sigh, letting the remnants of his cheese-and-ham sandwich drop to the cracked plate. “Not gonna lie, Sammy, I’m goin’ crazy here.”

“Me too,” Sam says and rubs his wrist just once. “But where else are we gonna go?”

“I dunno, man. I thought… maybe we could just drive around for a bit. Show Cas America, or whatever. We still got some money from our last credit cards, we can still hustle pool. I can get a job if we settle down for a while.” Dean shrugs.

Sam frowns. “Have you talked to Cas about this plan?”

Dean stills, before he picks up his sandwich again. “No, I- no.” Truth be told, he hasn’t talked to Cas about anything lately. Ever since that weird conversation between Sam and Cas two days ago, Dean’s tried to avoid Cas when they’re alone. He knows Cas wants to talk to him about _something_ , and he can’t- he just can’t.

“You should.”

“ _You_ go talk to him.”

Sam’s face grows stormy. “Why are you avoiding him, man?”

“I’m not! I’m not. I’m just.” It gives Dean a sour taste in his mouth, talking about Cas like he’s not here when in fact, he’s right in the next room. But the guy’s still sleeping something like fourteen hours every day, and Dean doesn’t want to wake him up. A sleeping Cas is a safe Cas. It’s when he opens those baby-blues of his and pierces Dean’s gaze that he’s dangerous.

“Just?” Sam’s not letting this go.

“Nothing.” Dean gets up and walks into the living room, not missing his brother’s ‘ _you’re repressing and I know it, Dean_ ’ face.

Cas is fast asleep. Dean watches him from the other side of the room, quiet. Even like this, bony and pale, weak and _human_ , Cas is beautiful. It pains Dean to look at his friend that way - it feels _wrong_ \- but he can’t stop. Cas is Cas, and somehow just as glorious now as he was as an angel. Dean can’t stop staring, just like he can’t stop the dreams that are coming more and more frequently. Dreams of Cas’s smile, Cas’s eyes, Cas’s _body_ , and they make Dean feel sick.

One of Cas’s hands is fisted in the sheets. His breath is labored, faster than it should be. He doesn’t look relaxed; instead he’s frowning, body jerking with small movements every now and then. When he sucks in a small gasp and winces, Dean knows he’s having a nightmare. He wants so badly to go over there and wake him up, brush a hand across Cas’s forehead and smile at him when he blinks those violently blue eyes open.

He doesn’t. Of course he fucking doesn’t. “Cas. Hey, you gotta wake up, man. You’re dreaming.”

Cas twitches more violently, pain ghosting over his face. His breath hitches.

“Cas, c’mon, man. Wake up.”

Eyes fluttering, fist clenching and unclenching, body jerking.

“Cas!” Dean barks, and Cas’s eyes fly open. He scrambles into a sitting position, hands clawing at his chest as if looking for something. Something that’s not there. He’s got tears in his eyes and he’s panting, like he’s run for miles. He looks terrified, and Dean doesn’t blame him.

“Hey, Cas.” The ex-angel’s eyes snap up to meet his. “You had a nightmare. It’s okay.” Dean tries to smile and almost succeeds. He’s still standing at the other end of the room, arms crossed so he won’t walk over and pull Cas into a hug or something. This is confusing enough for the guy as it is; he doesn’t need to deal with Dean’s crush right now.

Not that Dean has a crush. It’s just… a thing. Cas is his best friend; he’s family. That’s all there is. That’s all it _can_ be.

Cas hitches a breath and hunches in on himself. His t-shirt’s riding up, and Dean pretends he can’t see the barest hint of scarring on Cas’s lower back. Cas stretches out a hand towards Dean, clearly asking for help. Comfort.

Dean really, really wishes he wouldn’t. “It’s okay, man,” he says and feels his smile grow faker. “Don’t worry about it. Nightmares happen to everybody.” And he walks through the room, out the door, without sparing another glance at Cas. Can’t. Because he’s _so_ close to doing something monumentally stupid, of fucking this up, and fucking up this means fucking up Cas. And Dean can’t do that. Not even to satisfy his own, selfish needs.

Dean just needs to get this - whatever-it-is - under control. This is why they have to get away from here; Dean’s going crazy from being cooped up. He can’t let Sam know this is the real reason, just like Cas can’t know about his newfound fascination with him. There’s only two ways that can go, and neither of them are good.

Dean walks until he’s by his baby, climbing in and locking the door. He can breathe better here. The air’s warm, stifling after being under the March sun for a whole day, but the smells are familiar and the leather seat comfortable. Dean closes his eyes.

Option one. Cas freaks out, with good reason, and this is all ruined. He’ll hate Dean; he’ll leave. Maybe that’s for the best, at any rate, but Dean’s not ready to let Cas go. Not yet. Not until he’s stronger, eats more, smiles more. Dean has to _fix_ him before he can let Cas leave.

Option two - and this is the option that leaves Dean with an ashy taste in his mouth - Cas sticks around because he thinks he has to. Because he thinks he still owes them, or Dean, something. Because he thinks Dean is still the Righteous Man (if he ever was), and it’s still his duty as Heaven’s foot soldier to follow Dean wherever he goes, do whatever Dean tells him to do.

Just the thought makes him sick.

Dean stays in the Impala, trying to stop the same thoughts from churning in his mind, and eventually falls asleep.

_Dean is naked and standing on a dirty concrete floor, a calloused hand on Cas’s wiry neck. Cas is on his knees in front of him, foot soles scraped bloody and back clawed open. Cas doesn’t sense the blood that streams down his naked back, into the crack of his ass before trickling down onto the floor. He only has eyes for Dean; his face lit up in a euphoric smile, his pupils blown. He’s trembling, face sickeningly pale, but Dean doesn’t care._

_“Take it,” Dean says dispassionately, grip hardening in Cas’s hair until he knows it hurts. “Take it all.”_

_Cas moves forward immediately, swallowing down Dean’s stiff cock until his nose and lips are pressed against the coarse hairs at the base. He gags, unable to breathe through the intrusion. His hands grip Dean’s thighs and Dean sees they’re bloody too. His palms are scraped open, wounds still bleeding. He leaves sticky, red handprints on Dean’s legs._

_Dean doesn’t let go, just keeps Cas there, unable to breathe. “This is all you’re good for, Cas,” Dean murmurs and runs a thumb across Cas’s lips, where they’re wrapped obscenely around Dean’s cock. “Obeying orders. **Stay** , Cas.”_

_Cas tries to swallow and stares up at him, and even through the angel’s tears, Dean can see his adoring expression. His face is getting red from the lack of oxygen, the choking sounds higher, and the trembling worse._

_Dean doesn’t hold him still anymore, just keeps his hand tangled in Cas’s hair. “If you love me,” Dean says quietly, “you’ll stay.” He strokes the curly, black hair._

_Cas’s expression is pure bliss, even as tiny blood vessels in his eyes start to pop. He’s trying to smile around Dean’s cock, pressing himself as close as he can to Dean’s body, the blood on his back trailing faster down to the floor._

_Dean moves his other hand down between Cas’s shoulder blades, coats it in the warm, thick blood. He presses his nails into the wounds, making Cas shudder with pain. “You’re so beautiful when you cry,” Dean whispers and comes._

_Cas’s eyes roll into his skull and he convulses, shaking in Dean’s grip. He slumps until he lies by Dean’s feet in his own pool of warm blood, lifeless. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, staring at nothing. His face is a dark shade of violet, puffy and messy. There’s come, tears and spit around his swollen, chapped lips. Dean notices he’s bleeding from his ass, too. There are screams from around them, but Dean doesn’t care. Hell can wait._

_Dean crouches and lays a hand on Cas’s cold cheek, smears the spit and come he finds there. “I love you too, Cas,” he whispers._

Dean wakes up screaming.

~*~


	4. Don’t You See, Baby, Nothing Comes For Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean’s not doing so good._

Dean stumbles into the kitchen and straight over to the coffee machine, his hands shaking. He fumbles after a clean cup, or just the cup he remembers he used yesterday, and fills it up with fresh coffee when he sees there’s some already made. It burns his tongue and throat and he doesn’t care, just gulps it down. When the cup is empty, he slams it down hard enough that the sound makes him flinch, and grips the counter with both hands. Deep breath. Deep breath.

It’s not working. God, he needs something stronger. Whisky. Just one shot. Just enough to make that dream go away, to not have those images seared into his eyelids. Just enough to drown himself far enough down to never come back up for air.

_Just like you did to Cas._

Dean resists the urge to retch; fills his cup with lukewarm tap water instead and chugs it. The taste is stale and slightly sickening, but it washes away the immediate nausea.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Dean?”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t turn around, knows Sam can see right through his paper-thin composure. Fuck, Dean hasn’t felt so out of it since he first realized Cas didn’t have a voice anymore.

“Hey, what’s wrong, man?” Sam steps close enough to touch, but doesn’t. Knows that sometimes, a simple touch can trigger a shitload of buried stuff. It’s something that’s left within them both, from Hell. And the lid that keeps that shit locked up is always, _always_ thinnest when they first wake up from a nightmare.

Dean chokes on his laugh and shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

“C’mon, man.” Sam’s voice lowers. “You look like shit. Was it Cas?”

 _When is it not?_ Dean wants to say. In the end he doesn’t say anything.

Sam stays where he is, and Dean can feel his concerned eyes on his back. “Was it Hell?” he asks quietly.

“Sam, it’s _nothing_!” Dean yells, too loud, way too loud. Sam actually flinches a little, and Dean immediately feels terrible for taking this out on Sam. The kid’s got enough shit on his plate without Dean adding to it. Especially since Dean’s lying like fuck right now. It’s everything. It’s fucking _everything, Sam._

“Sorry, I…” Sam takes a step back, looks like he wants to be mad and bitch at Dean, but can’t. He’s rubbing at his wrist, hard, eyes flickering to and from the corner, and _fuck_ , Dean, great job. Awesome.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m just-“ Dean grips the counter harder, fingertips throbbing, before he lets go and slumps down into one of the old kitchen chairs. “Just had a nightmare, ‘s all. It hit a little too close to home.”

Sam sits down too, brown eyes studying Dean. He looks worried, long bangs falling in front of his face, making him look like a ten-year old. He’s still rubbing his wrist.

“I’m fine,” Dean assures him. “Just- freaked me out a little.” He tries a laugh on for size, and it rings so fake in his own ears he has to stop.

Sam frowns and clutches his own cup gently. “You wanna tell me about it?”

“Fuck no.” Dean rubs a hand across his face. “’S just a dream, Sammy. Okay? That’s all it was.” _Please, Sam. Let it go._

“Then what’s the harm in telling me?”

“Oh, I dunno, Sam,” Dean says false-cheerily, and again his voice it too loud for the small room. “You wanna tell me about _your_ Hell-dreams?” This is the closest they’ve ever come to discussing those dreams, Dean realizes as soon as he says it. They both know what their nightmares are usually about, and they’ve both left the issue alone. Until now, it seems. Dean wishes he never brought it up.

“That’s… different,” Sam says and looks hurt again. When his gaze goes over to the corner, it lingers there for almost ten seconds before he forces himself to look back at Dean. “Those are memories. Most of them.” Rub, rub, rub. “And this seemed different.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nothing,” Dean lies. “And stop rubbin’.” He stands up to refill his cup with water, imagines it’s booze when he swallows it down. It doesn’t work, why should it? Fuck. He wishes he could just stop trembling already.

“Dean, man,” Sam says slowly. “I haven’t seen you like that after a nightmare since…”

“Since right after I came back. I know.” He doesn’t turn around. “It wasn’t a run-of-the-mill nightmare.”

Sam’s quiet, but Dean feels a wave of sympathy coming from his kid brother. He appreciates it, he really does. Even if he can still feel Cas’s blood on his hands, hear choking noises, feel phantom, wet warmth around his dick. Dean hunches in on himself and closes his eyes, and is immediately met by Cas’s euphoric, swollen face.

“You know what I wanna do, Sam?” Dean chokes out, eyes flying open. His skin is too tight, he can’t breathe properly.

“What do you want to do?” Sam’s got his counselor-voice, but Dean doesn’t care right now.

“I wanna hunt. I wanna pack up and drive off, hunt down and kill some evil sons-a-bitches.” He turns to stare at Sam. “And then I wanna get drunk. But I can’t do that anymore. I can’t do any of those things, because of Cas. And that’s- that’s my safety net, Sam. That’s how I deal with this- this shit.” He presses his fingers hard against his temple.

“And now that you can’t,” Sam says quietly, “you don’t know what to do.”

Dean just lets his arms fall to his sides. He feels defeated. Just… deflated, and nauseous. Still nauseous. He can smell booze and sex and blood in the stifled air, and leans back against the counter. Welcomes the pain as the hard wood digs into the small of his back.

Sam stays quiet, just watches Dean with infinite patience.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs after the silence is stretched too long. “I dreamt about Cas.”

Sam frowns. “I thought you said it was a Hell-dream.”

“It was.” He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes anymore. Just stares down at his dirty jeans.

“… oh.” He can hear the small sigh Sam makes when he connects the dots. Smart kid, Dean thinks and feels a wave of nausea roll through him. “Dean-“

“Don’t.”

“I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, you were.” Dean looks up and sends his brother a bitter smile.

Sam looks frustrated, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are old. As old as Dean feels right now.

Dean presses himself just a little harder against the counter. “Look, right now our focus needs to be on Cas. Okay? He’s the one we gotta keep our eyes on. I’ll be fine. And I won’t hunt, or drink, or do anything stupid. I’ll just…” _bury it deep and hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass._ “Deal with it.” Dean sighs. “‘kay?”

“Dean-“

“I’m _fine_ ,” Dean grits out. “And story time’s over.”

After a long moment of silence, where Sam looks like he’s about to start on another tirade about Dean opening himself up to his feelings or some shit, the kid nods. “Okay, Dean. If that’s what you say.” He stares down at his coffee cup, looking defeated. He looks more worried than ever, which _fuck that_. Dean can’t stand there and look at that face.

Dean walks out and into the living room, and freezes.

Cas is awake. When Dean came back in he was still asleep, but now he’s sitting up in his couch. He’s writing on the laptop, fingers moving clumsily over the keyboard, posture hunched and face almost entirely hidden from Dean’s view. But Dean can see he’s crying.

And he knows Cas heard.

“Shit, Cas…”

Cas writes faster as his breath hitches, and doesn’t look at Dean.

Dean doesn’t know what the hell to say, so in the end he just waits. It’s obvious Cas has a few things to say to him, and Dean owes him to listen to them, at least. Especially after yesterday. His cheeks burn at the knowledge that Cas _heard_ , even though he never told Sam any details. Cas knows he dreamed about him; knows what sick, fucked-up thoughts lurk around in Dean’s brain.

Fuck, he needs to get out of here.

Just when he starts moving towards the front door, back out to his baby, Cas rises and grabs the laptop. He walks over to Dean and pushes the laptop into Dean’s hands. Then he steps away, backwards, until he’s pressed against the wall on the other side of the room. He slides down to the floor and sits there, waiting. He doesn’t look at Dean again.

 _He’s afraid of me_ , Dean thinks, with a bitter taste working its way up his throat. _He’s afraid of what I might do to him._

He slides down to the floor, trembling fingers holding the laptop tightly. Cas has written something that looks like a letter. Dean reads.

 

_Dean,_

_I never said thank you for saving my life, and I’m sorry about that. There are many things I’m sorry about._

_I’ll be fine. There’s no point in you worrying about me anymore. If you could please drive me into Sioux Falls, I can manage myself after that. I can find a job, somewhere to live. You and Sam can go back to your lives. To hunting. I know that’s what you want, and I understand. I’m sorry I can’t be of any help anymore. I’m sorry I’m in the way all the time, and I’m sorry I make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry I can’t leave you alone even when you’re sleeping._

_You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Dean. You didn’t deserve any of this. I don’t want to take advantage of you and your brother anymore. I’ll be fine._

_I won’t ask for anything else, but I would like to keep my clothes. Just so I have something to remember you by. I hope your dreams stop, now that I won’t be here to trigger them. I hope Sam will be okay. I wish you every happiness._

_I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry for everything._

 

Dean reads the letter three times, just so he’s sure he’s not misunderstanding anything. He feels numb. “That- that’s it?” he gets out. The laptop slides to the floor with a _thunk_. “You’re leaving?”

Cas looks up at him and nods. His face is stoic, the traces of tears wiped off. He would seem calm, almost, if not for the tightening of his jaw Cas only ever gets when he’s in pain.

“I- _why_?” Dean croaks.

Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as bat an eye. For once, he doesn’t look away no matter how long Dean keeps staring.

“Cas…” _Stay_. Dean closes his eyes and bangs his head against the wall. _If you love me, you’ll stay,_ his mind whispers sweetly. “… Okay.”

Cas blinks, surprised. He opens his mouth in a question.

“Okay,” Dean whispers. “If that’s what you want.”

~*~


	5. It’s Okay to say You’ve Got a Weak Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas packs his bags._

Cas stands up on shaky legs, eyes on the floor. He shuffles over to the couch he’s been sleeping on for the last five weeks and pulls on a hoodie. It used to be Sam’s, Dean notices absentmindedly. He’s still sitting on the floor, watching the scene unfold as if he’s in a movie. Like it’s not really happening.

The ex-angel puts on his shoes, fumbling with the laces. They’re Dean’s, or they used to be; one of the black, sleek pairs he used to wear with his FBI suits, until they became too worn and scruffy. Dean rises to his feet, has to lean against the wall to stay upright. He doesn’t help Cas unfold the two extra sets of clothing he has, all hand-me-downs from Dean or Sam. He just watches from where he stands, quietly panicking.

Cas is really leaving. And there’s nothing Dean can do about it, because- because he can’t ask him to stay.

Cas has his own little duffel bag, a brown, small one Sam’s bought him, and he stuffs all the extra clothes into it. His movements are slow and unrushed, but his whole body’s thrumming with tension - and something Dean would think is misery but can’t be sure of anymore. When Cas zips the duffle closed and slings it over one shoulder, standing in a hunched pose between the couch and the table, Dean finally manages to stumble forward.

He wants - _needs_ \- to pull Cas close and keep him there, tell him he’s sorry and beg him not to leave. But every time he approaches Cas, all he can see is the twisted, swollen, _dead_ face from his dream, and in the end he can’t. In the end, he just leans forward and grabs Cas’s notepad from the table with trembling fingers.

“Here, Cas, you’ll… need it.” He holds it out for Cas to take. It smells like blood in here, like rust and slick, and Dean breathes through his mouth even though he knows it’s all in his head.

He hopes beyond hope that this is just a dream too. Just another nightmare.

Cas freezes when he lays sight on the notepad, and he doesn’t move for several moments. Then he wraps his fingers around it, and halts again. It becomes a stand-still, both of them staring at the little white block of paper filled with black scribbles. Both of them waiting for the other one to move. There’s something _almost_ happening here; Dean doesn’t know what, but he can feel it hum through his whole body. So he waits, and forces himself to breathe. He doesn’t look at Cas. He can’t. It hurts too much.

And then Cas’s face crumples and he slumps down onto the couch, the duffle bag sliding off his shoulder and onto the floor. He sobs, a dry, raspy, _ugly_ sound, and looks smaller than Dean has ever seen him. In the giant, black hoodie, he almost looks like a kid. Like Sam when he was younger.

So Dean does what he would’ve done to a thirteen-year old Sammy crying on his couch. He sinks down to wrap his arms carefully around Cas’s shaking form, and tries to block out the Hell-screams inside his head as he holds his angel tight.

Cas is rigid, body quaking with the force of his sobs. His hands are trapped between their bodies, as is the notepad. Dean feels Cas’s hair tickle his cheek, smells that familiar coconut shampoo and a musky, sweaty smell that can only be _Cas_ , and before Dean realizes what’s going on, he’s whispering “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again into Cas’s neck.

Cas just cries.

~*~


	6. I’ve Been Silent All My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where coconut shampoo is pivotal to Dean’s wellbeing._

After a while, Dean leans back in the couch. Cas follows, now clinging to Dean like a sweaty blanket. The images are right there, every time Dean closes his eyes, but he tries not to dwell on them. This is… different. It has to be. Dean’s not forcing him to stay. He’s not even asking. Right? He just… _hopes_. He dares to hope.

Cas is sprawled awkwardly on the couch, head resting on Dean’s chest. Dean’s t-shirt is damp from the angel’s tears, and though Cas has calmed down, he still sobs quietly every now and then. Dean doesn’t know what just happened, but it’s like someone pulled the plug out from a place inside Cas and now the guy’s just flushing it all out.

It’s probably a good thing. Dean doesn’t let himself linger on how nice it actually _does_ feel, having Cas close again, but he’s glad it has somehow helped the guy. It seems like forever since he last touched Cas - since the last time he let Cas touch _him_. Dean wonders briefly where Sam is, though he’s grateful his brother isn’t here right now. That would have been… awkward.

Cas shivers, and Dean’s grip tightens a little. He can still picture Cas’s letter in his mind’s eye, even half-imagine Castiel the Angel’s voice reading it. It’s… complete bullshit. It’s a bullshit letter, and Cas knew it. So the question is; who taught him to bullshit?

_Well, that’s not really a question at all, is it?_

“That letter… that was just to let me off the hook, wasn’t it?”

Cas tenses.

Dean sighs. “Figures you’d learn all my best traits.” His voice is laced with bitterness, but his arms around Cas stay gentle. If Cas wants to pull away, there’s nothing stopping him. And that’s how it’ll always have to be. “Cas, you’re… not in the way. Okay? You’re not a nuisance, and you’re not the only reason we’re not hunting. You’re just- we’re all in above our heads, y’know? Me and Sam too. It’s not- just you.”

Cas stays tense, but shifts a little.

“And none of this is your fault,” Den says with more force than intended, “so don’t you fucking say you’re sorry. As for you makin’ me uncomfortable…” His fingers curl briefly in Cas’s hair, and even as his inner Alistair whispers at him to tug, tug until the hair’s ripped clean from the scalp, he can feel Cas relaxing at the touch. Dean swallows and wills himself to calm down, ignore the echoes of past dreams - memories - and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“I had a nightmare,” Dean says quietly, moving his hand to rest it on the back of Cas’s neck. Immediately there’s another flash, a not-memory of him squeezing the tendons, bruising the tender skin there. Dean chokes out a breath and continues. “I was- it was some fucked-up shit, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t move, but the hand gripping Dean’s arm tightens a little to let Dean know he’s listening.

“You were in it.” He rubs his thumb gently over Cas’s neck, mostly because he just needs to keep it moving. Has to do something that didn’t happen in the dream. He can hear faint choking sounds, can imagine Cas’s face go cold and still, and he leans in to smell Cas. Coconut. Not blood, not sex, not- wrong. Just coconut shampoo and Cas. Dean uses it to ground him. “The things I did to you, Cas…”

Cas’s grip tightens further, and then his right hand finds his notepad. Cas turns a little, but he doesn’t move away from Dean. On the contrary; he seems to burrow closer. His writing’s even more blurry than it usually is, both from the angle and Cas’s obvious exhaustion. Dean can read it from where he sits on the couch, Cas balancing the notepad on his leg.

_You wouldn’t do that to me._

Dean closes his eyes, fights back the dream memories with Cas’s smell. “How do you know?” he whispers.

Soft scratching sounds of a pen on paper. _I don’t._

Dean chokes out a laugh that’s too close to a sob. “Fuck,” he says because he needs to. “I shouldn’t even be doing this. I’m-“ he starts to move, but Cas’s hand clamps down on his arm. Cas’s body goes rigid again, and he scribbles down something so fast it’s almost impossible to read when he’s done. Dean has to tilt his head and squint at it for almost a minute, before he realizes what it says.

_Stay. Please, stay._

Dean presses his face into Cas’s tangle of curls. It’s hard to breathe; his chest feels constricted and hurts, like there are barbs in his lungs. His eyes burn. _If you love me, you’ll stay._ “Yeah,” Dean whispers. “Yeah, okay, Cas. I’ll stay.”

~*~


	7. Epilogue: Last Night’s Love Affair is Looking Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean’s too groggy to freak out._

Dean’s awoken by the sound of quiet footsteps, and opens his eyes immediately.

“Sorry,” Sam murmurs. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dean looks down at himself. He’s stretched out on the couch now, Cas sprawled on top of him. Their legs are tangled, and Dean feels that dull ache that means he’s been lying in a slightly uncomfortable situation for too long. One of Cas’s hands is clutching the material of his shirt, right above where his heart is. The other one’s curled around Dean’s waist, pressed in between him and the couch cushion. Dean feels Cas’s slow, steady breath against his neck. The ex-angel is fast asleep.

“Have you been in the kitchen all along?” Dean asks, voice hushed so they won’t wake Cas. He would probably be more freaked out, if he wasn’t so groggy from sleep. Besides, this feels... strangely comfortable.

Sam nods and grins. It’s a mixture between ‘I’m so proud of my big brother’ and ‘I’m never letting you live this down EVER’, and Dean utters a quiet groan.

“D’you hear?” Of course he did. How could he not? Goddamn Sammy and his spying.

Sam nods again. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself. “To be honest, you guys were long overdue, Dean.”

“Shut up.” There’s barely any heat in the statement at all, and Dean’s embarrassed he can’t even _pretend_ he’s sorry. “But- earlier, when Cas…” He doesn’t know how to phrase the question without sounding like a douche - the same brand of douche he is himself - so he trails off.

Sam, of course, knows what he means. Dean’s weird telepathic kid. “If I would’ve let Cas leave?” He rubs his neck. “Honestly, I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”

“But what if it had?” Dean doesn’t know why he keeps prodding; he doesn’t even want the answer. But he has to ask.

Sam just shrugs and gives him a soft smile. “I had faith in you guys.”

Dean considers giving Sam a speech about him being a giant girl again, until he remembers that _he’s_ the one sleeping on the couch holding Cas, not Sammy. As if he heard his thoughts, Cas shifts a little and sighs in his sleep. The hand resting on Dean’s chest clenches once, before he settles again. Dean leans in on instinct, barely pressing his cheek against Cas’s warm face before pulling back, and Cas relaxes fully.

Sam looks like he’s two minutes away from hugging Dean and embarrassing them both. Well, fuck that.

“This changes nothing,” Dean says, with a hint of a hiss at the end. So, Cas stays. That doesn’t change anything else. They’re friends, they’re gonna deal, it’s gonna be fine. This was a one-time thing. No big deal.

Sam’s mouth curls into a sympathetic smile. “Dean,” he murmurs. “This changes _everything_.”

Dean… Dean looks away at that. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that one sentence. His stomach’s rolling, and suddenly a subtle smell of blood and sweat is in the air again. Dean closes his eyes and focuses on Cas’s smell. He still smells fresh, still smells like coconut. And… something else.

 _Me_ , Dean realizes and opens his eyes. _Cas smells like me_.

“I’m gonna let you guys sleep,” Sam says and starts walking quietly towards the staircase.

“Sam.” The rest of the sentence gets caught in Dean’s throat.

Sam stops and turns around. “Yeah?”

“What… what am I gonna do?” He feels like a little kid for asking, but Sam just shrugs.

“I dunno, man. Just… deal with it.” He turns and keeps walking, but stops in the doorway. “And um, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

Sam grimaces. “Try not to fuck it up again, would you?”

Even as that familiar, crippling fear tugs on his insides, Dean snorts. “Agai-- fuck you, Sam.” _Thank you, Sam._

Sam beams and disappears downstairs.

“Goddamn bitch,” Dean mutters and closes his eyes. It’s not really a good sleeping position, and Cas is heavy, but he stays like this anyway. He doesn’t wanna disturb the guy when he’s sleeping so peacefully.

Dean swears he hears Sam mutter “jerk” from the basement and grins.

~*~


End file.
